


baby, you a song

by fannyatrollop



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Country AU, F/F, Miss Vanjie is the true MVP, Platonic Soulmates!Trixya, Randomly Selected Setting, Very Dumb Lesbians Find Love Despite Themselves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-05-30 18:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15102569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannyatrollop/pseuds/fannyatrollop
Summary: A beautiful story of love and friendship in rural Ohio. Kameron is a walking lesbian cowgirl wet dream. Trixie just wanted to drive her siblings to their horse lessons, not so much because she loves babysitting, but because she lacks better things to do with her time. They blunder gracelessly towards each other. Trucks may be driven through mud at some point, to Trixie's utter horror.Meanwhile, Katya becomes rather taken with the mayor's scandalous daughter.





	1. jockey mom

**Author's Note:**

> This is the worst idea since the last one I had, but I am leaning right into it.
> 
> First, I'd like to thank [HerGirl14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerGirl14), for giving me the idea of writing Trixie/Kameron. This all started as a stupid gag plot bunny where Kameron takes Trixie muddin', and Trixie goes along out of thirst. It's... grown since then. But my child started this fire, so clap for the hooker.
> 
> Also many thanks to [gayswampwitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayswampwitch), for encouraging and suffering my nonsense. Go read her fic, Unbelievers, I am gleefully siphoning inspo from it. 
> 
> As always, expect me to be careening forward on a wing and a prayer. Life by the seat of one's pants is terrifying, but kinda fun I guess.

The core of the Mattel family is composed either of beings made in the Devil’s image, or sensitive weenies. Trixie likes to believe that she is the sole middle ground, but she tends more toward the side of the weenies. Thing is, unlike the others, she resents it and will do anything to deny her weenie-ness, including suffering a close proximity to horses.

During the week, her mother threw her childhood fear of the accursed creatures in her face, and asked if she could take her siblings to their riding lessons in the same breath. Her father, usually the one to do it, had some important church bake sale meeting or something.

“I know you pussied out when it was your turn, but your brothers and sister like the horses,” her mother had said. “Since it’s not like you have anything to do now that most people your age left for college, could you please drive them this Saturday?”

Trixie readily agreed, and vowed to take them every week after. Her honour demanded it, and she now regrets where that got her.

It’s not the horse riding part that gets to her, not any more. Sure, they’re soulless creatures from Hell, but Old Man Michaels can handle horses. It’s his family’s business to handle them. She has nothing to fear with his capable hands on the reins, she is almost twenty-one years old, she just has to stand at a safe distance and they won’t get her. She’s not the one getting on them, trusting them with her life and limbs, both of which she was very much attached to as a child and simply made the reasonable choice not to risk them. She may have expressed her choice by crying and screaming until she was taken far, far away from the horses, but she will die insisting that it was still reasonable in itself.

That was then, though. Now, Trixie can take the fucking horses. The siblings, though, are fixing to give her early grays.

“Trevor and Tyler! Stop spoiling your chickens and get over here!”

Trixie keeps an eye on Tayla as they wait for the twins. She’d rounded her and the littlest, Toby, about five minutes ago, and she’s starting to show signs of boredom. A bored Tayla tends to amuse herself by teasing Toby, and since he’s a definite weenie on his first day of riding lessons, Trixie doesn’t want him crying before they even get on the road. Toby clings to her, as he usually does when he can’t latch onto one of their parents.

Trevor and Tyler continue feeding berries to the chickens, clearly favouring one in particular.

“We have to appease Storm,” says Tyler.

“It’s looking cloudy,” supplies Trevor.

Trixie groans.

“Your chicken does not control the weather!”

“Don’t let her hear! We’ll be in for it then!”

“Can we get in the car?” Tayla whines.

Trixie wishes she didn’t have to risk leaving the twins to their own devices for a second.

“Yes, I unlocked it. Get in.”

“Toby’s not moving,” Tayla snips.

“I want to stay with Trixie,” says Toby, plaintively.

“You don’t have to wait for him, Tayla. I know you know that,” Trixie says.

She wills herself to sound commanding, fearsome. Her brothers are particularly stunted thirteen year old boys. Or, well, she’s probably being too charitable to boys that age, in which case they’re perfectly normal, but no less annoying. On top of being responsible for the two of them, she has a nine year old in her care. A nine year old who is shaping up to be a real doozy of a character, on the brink of bullying the six year old for shits and giggles. The shy, sensitive six year old who might be nervous about the horses (there are few things that _don’t_ make him nervous) and doesn’t need to be his sister’s punching bag. She has no _time_ for middle school boy nonsense.

“Trevor and Tyler! Car! _Now_!”

Katya once heard her put on her serious voice, and said that she sounded like the guy from _300_ , but as a soccer mom. Whatever that means, it does the trick.

She tells the twins that rain is good for farmers as they sullenly pile into the family truck. Tayla, ready to duel the others to the death over sitting shotgun, doesn’t have to fight for her desired seat, as the twins like to sit together and Toby likes to pick his battles. It’s not easy for Toby to pry himself away from his human security blanket (Trixie), but he does so bravely.

Trixie hopes that, now that the damn kids are all in the car, it will be smooth sailing. Every time she finds herself in charge of the whole brood, she thanks God for making her the type of girl who will likely die childless.

***

During the drive, Trixie had warned Tayla that if she wanted her to braid her hair the way she likes it again next week, she’ll lay off Toby for the day. Tayla threatened to learn how to French braid all by herself so she wouldn’t _need_ Trixie anyway, but with a dejected enough sulk to let her know that she would comply. This meant that when they all piled out of the car, Trixie could take her baby brother aside and check in with him.

“How’re you doing, little guy?” she says, crouching down to his level.

He’s quiet, biting his lip and avoiding her gaze.

Trixie knows _she’s_ certainly one to talk about encouraging a child to face his fears, but sees fit to lean into hypocrisy anyway.

“Hey,” she says, gently guiding his head so that he looks at her. “Old Man Michaels is a nice man, and smart too. He wouldn’t let you on a horse if it was too wild. I’ll be watching you the whole time. You can do this.”

Toby looks at her, frowning.

“You didn’t do your lessons when you were little,” he says.

_Fuck. He got me there._

“Okay,” she says, caught fair and square. “We’ll go on up together. If you really don’t want to ride the horses, you can stand with me. I still gotta make sure the twins don’t try to do any stupid, fancy tricks they’re not trained for.”

Toby smiles. Trixie gets up, takes his hand and leads him to the gathering place. He stays glued to her side, refusing to join the little clumps of kids waiting to start their lessons. She can recognize most of the parents (mostly mothers) and children, but apparently there are parents who would take the time to drive all the way out from wherever for this kind of thing, so there are some unfamiliar faces. More power to them.

Wherever there’s kids around her age, Tayla can produce a situational best friend, or more. Trixie can make her out with two other girls, chatting animatedly and laughing. Trevor and Tyler are in their own little bubble, but they haven’t managed to blunder their way to the emergency room in the time Trixie hasn’t been focused on them. Having taken inventory of her siblings’ locations, she settles in with the other adults.

There is no way to avoid socializing, so Trixie fields questions about her family, where her dad is, and even some about Katya. They tell her that it seems awkward to approach the Zamolodchikovs about Katya’s condition themselves.

“I heard they found her in a crack den,” Mrs. Perry says, demonstrating the world’s least successful attempt at whispering.

“Such a pity, she was such a smart girl. Smartest in her year, and look where she ends up,” Mrs. Mavis laments.

Trixie can’t fully keep the ice out of her tone when she reminds them that Katya is alive, that her family has seen her, that she is recovering, and that she will be coming home soon. Trixie isn’t as far in the loop as people assume, hasn’t been able to contact Katya herself and relies on the updates her family sees fit to give. Even if she had all the harrowing details of how Katya was living when her brother drove up to see her in Columbus, horror stories about her time at rehab, or anything to supply a real life case study these mothers could use to teach their children about the evils of drugs, she wouldn’t tell them. Katya doesn’t deserve to be reduced to a cautionary tale.

Sensing the tension, the women give up questioning Trixie and start cooing over Toby. His natural response is to stare at the ground and mutter a bashful _thank you_ , which is just the thing to please this crowd.

Trixie rubs at the back of Toby’s neck, to soothe him. Her hand keeps her tethered, in some way, to her responsibilities as she lets her mind wander away. _God_ , she feels like she’s lived every second of her life at the Michaels’ stables, waiting for something to happen. She’ll take the kids for ice cream after. Not out of the kindness of her heart, but because she’s craving some.

At last, there’s movement coming from the stables. Toby tugs at Trixie’s hand, so she could go with him to watch Old Man Michaels ride out to greet them. He is followed by his granddaughter, Kameron.

Trixie feels like she hasn’t seen her in ages, but one look is enough to take her back to those long ago high school days, where every girl (gay, straight, or bi) had the hots for Kameron Michaels. Trixie doesn’t have a history with her or anything, but she was two years below her, and she had eyes.

Kameron must be helping out with the lessons. Ideally, Old Man Michaels would be able to rely on his only son, but he and his wife passed away many years ago. Someone still replaces the flowers on the spot along the road where they were killed. Old Man Michaels can’t be expected to control a group of kids all on his own, however many positive qualities he possesses, so of course he would make use of his granddaughter’s inborn riding skills as soon as he could. It is known that being born a Michaels meant you would grow up to be an excellent rider, one way or the other. It’s in the blood.

It does, however, make for an uncomfortable time when you used to lust after her, and are well on your way to starting again. Trixie and Kim used to share daydreams about being hoisted onto a horse by Kameron’s strong arms and riding into the sunset. Those arms seem to have gotten bigger, and are now covered in tattoos. She’s wearing a loose flannel shirt, tied in a knot under her breasts, though she had the delicacy to put on a tank top so she won’t scandalize any parents. Trixie doesn’t know if she’s grateful or outraged that she hasn’t rolled up her shirtsleeves. With her long hair braided down her back, and her Stetson, Kameron is giving her lesbian cowgirl fantasies. Her thighs clench.

_Calm down, Mattel. You’re babysitting._

She takes Toby as close to the gathering of kids as he’ll go. Most of her energy goes towards being aware of his presence beside her, and trying not to ogle Kameron. She should really look into getting laid sometime soon, it’s embarrassing how quickly she’s gotten fired up, and from seeing a high school crush, too.

She doesn’t register anything else until she feels her arm being tugged. Toby motions toward Kameron, who has made her way to Trixie while she was busy trying to calm the ardour she inspired in her. She’s close enough that Trixie can see the tattooed skin peeking out of the collar of her shirt. Trixie gives her a flustered smile, in return for her disarming grin.

“Hey,” Kameron says, with a quick glance at Toby. “I was just wondering if he’ll be joining us.”

Trixie looks at Toby. Toby glances between her and Kameron in a state of mild distress.

“I, uh, can let him ride with me if he’s scared,” Kameron adds. “Or with you.”

Toby looks up at her. He knows damn well that Trixie can’t ride, but he’s probably silently pleading for her to go with him. She can’t do that, but she can try and ease his worries. Even though she’s burning with jealousy.

“Hey,” she says, stroking his hair. “You’ll be perfectly safe with Kameron. But it’s up to you. I’d trust her, though.”

Trixie gives Kameron an apologetic look during the agonizing minute or so it takes for Toby to decide. He soon nods, and she releases him into Kameron’s care. For the duration of the lesson, she tells herself she’s just keeping tabs on her little brother when she knows she’s watching Kameron, appreciating her command of her horse, of the younger children, and the way she checks in on Toby as they go.

Trixie wants to switch places with a six year old, and it’s embarrassing.

She pulls herself together so she can take her little brother back from Kameron after the lesson, and thank her for her kindness. Trixie is surprised to see her linger after, waiting for a moment of her attention while she listens to Toby talk about how nice Miss Kameron was, and how he _didn’t fall_ , and that it was a lot more fun than he expected.

Trixie shushes him gently, turning her attention to Kameron. “Is there something I’ll need to bring next week?” she asks. She figures there must be something, she has no idea how to be a proper jockey mom and if her dad hadn’t prepared the kids’ things for her they would have come hopelessly unprepared.

“Uh,” Kameron said, laughing a little nervously. “No, you’re fine. I just, uh, wanted to know if you’d be coming back?With them, I mean. Like if you’re bringing them.”

Trixie’s heart skips a beat, but she can’t presume that Kameron is invested in her presence because she’s interested in her. She nods in answer to her question.

“Yeah,” she says. She takes a warm-up breath before attempting something witty, but before she can even exhale she hears Tayla calling her name.

“Trixie!” Tayla yells, screeching to a halt and panting for a bit, before bouncing excitedly. “Trixie! Did you watch me? Did you?”

Trixie lies, assures her that she was totally watching, and that she thinks Tayla did very well. Tayla catches her in the lie and sulks that she _never_ pays _any_ attention to her.

Kameron gives her one last winning smile before leaving her to her sister’s accusations, of which she is very guilty, but not for reasons Tayla would be able to grasp. Trevor and Tyler soon join them, begging to be taken home, or at least somewhere with wifi.

The promise of ice cream makes them all easier to manage.

***

“If you don’t fuck her, we can’t be friends,” Kim says, all the way from her bedroom in Chicago. “I have to live vicariously through you, you know.”

Trixie thinks it’s actually the other way around. Since going out of state for college, Kim has blossomed. She is currently lounging on her bed, in a fluffy robe, while a gorgeous fire-truck-redhead smoulders next to her, listening sleepily to their conversation while playing with her phone. She is, thankfully, clothed. She hasn’t gotten this one’s name yet, but she knows that she loves parties, pizza, and pizza parties. She’s also a more dominant force in bed than she seems. Kim gleefully supplied the last fact while the girl stepped away for a moment, to pee.

From Trixie’s vantage point, Kim is living a life full of gorgeous women, including a statuesque stunner of a roommate. She studies fashion design, and when she doesn’t have a beautiful lover to show off, she will produce some masterpiece of a garment she designed herself for Trixie to see. She often complains of how there never seems to be enough time for everything she needs to do, but her insistence on making sure Trixie sees just how far she’s come from the girl she went to highschool with shows that she’s proud of the life she’s built for herself in the past year.

The shy, quiet Kim who only showed her talents to her best friends, her own bedroom walls, and the internet has grown into herself, and Trixie has to admit that as proud as she is, she’s also a little jealous. When Trixie was younger, she idolized Barbie not only for her killer sense of style, but for the fact that she was the image of a woman who had built a career in every possible field. She even found time to be a mother, something Trixie might not long for herself, but it shows a superhuman ability to multitask. When she said she wanted to be Barbie when she grew up, she meant that she wanted to do _everything_.

All she’s doing these days is driving out to the nearest community college for gen-ed courses, helping out with her family’s orchard, caring for her cows and siblings.

She should have applied for college. Maybe she could have gone to Ohio State with Katya; it might have helped Katya to have had someone to look out for her, and Trixie might feel less like she’s wasting her life now. But she hit senior year with more dreams than she could focus on, and thought she needed more time to organize herself. She has no idea what’s holding her up, now that September of the second year she could have been in college has rolled around.

Kim has to be joking when she says she has to live vicariously through _Trixie_.

“Come on, Kim,” Trixie says. “She’ll probably turn out to have been a very vivid illusion as soon as I’m able to touch her.”

Kim looks unimpressed.

“Kameron Michaels is a rare specimen, and she’s at least interested in seeing your ugly mug once a week,” she says. “Why else would she ask if you’d be coming around regularly?”

“Maybe she was being friendly,” Trixie argues. “Sure, she always had that strong, silent, resting sexy face going on, but she’d smile if you talked to her. I think. We mostly watched her from afar.”

“We were fools. I have found that talking to girls helps a lot.”

Trixie raises a brow. “What a revolutionary concept.”

Kim shrugs, giving her ornamental lover’s shoulder a squeeze. “You’d be amazed at what happens when you use common sense.”

Trixie is officially in a sulking mood.

“It’s not easy to know what she thinks,” she says, pouting like a child who knows she’s in the wrong, but will defend her wrong opinions to the death.

Kim groans. “Well, yes, it’s usually hard to work out what’s in someone’s head without talking to them. But I think you have enough information to make an educated guess, and that you have a shot. And if you don’t take that shot, I will scalp you for Christmas.”

Fire Truck Red interrupts to ask if she can see a picture of Kameron, as her interest has been piqued. She gives a low whistle when Kim produces one, most likely from creeping her social media.

“You gotta go for it, dude,” says the stranger.

It’s Trixie’s policy to wind down a conversation that devolves into some strange girl telling her what to do with her life. She makes sure to end the conversation by telling Kim she misses her. They don’t talk about Katya, they’ve said enough in previous conversations, and it’s time to wait for her to come back into their world.

It’s late, and Trixie has been given leave to focus entirely on herself. She was in charge of her siblings for what turned out to be the better part of her day, had chores to take care of, and took refuge in her guitar when she felt too worn out by the chaos of her family. She’s still bone tired at the end of it all, and decides to prepare for bed.

She drifts off to dreams of horses, and strong arms around her waist to hold her steady.

***

Kameron is truly exceptional when it comes to being ignorant of the social world around her. She never realized she was such a teen heartthrob, and has to admit she’s usually a little late on the uptake when a woman is interested in her, even now that she’s older and wiser. She likes to keep her personal circle small, having been painfully shy since she was a young girl. She’s managed to be a private person in a small town, though it helps that the Michaels homestead is a little bit of a distance away from everyone else. She has as much human contact as she wants, especially with Eureka O’Hara as one of her best friends. Eureka is almost five people rolled into one when it comes to the energy required to handle her. Kameron also has horses to find peace with, and a close relationship with her grandparents.

She remembers Trixie Mattel from school, though there’s no way Trixie would know that since she has never made a single move to let her know of this.

Kameron has only loved once in her life. Like many teenage love stories it was brief, and ended in heartbreak. The day it all fell to pieces, she had taken refuge in the girl’s bathroom, where every girl has the God-given right to cry in peace when someone she’s fallen for has let her know they’re not looking to settle, even if it was done gently. Suddenly, as if stepping out of a dream, she was visited by a girl that looked like Dolly Parton and another heaven-sent angel rolled into one.

Trixie never approached her after the day she pressed some paper towels into her hand, as gentle as Mother Mary, but Kameron’s eyes would linger on her if she ever saw her around after that. She was still sore from her first experience with teenage lovesickness, so she didn’t want to risk unhappiness by seeking out her affection.

Then, she graduated, and found that being an adult gave her leave to give into her introverted personality. In short, she hasn’t really gotten out much since leaving school, so she let her brief infatuation die down. Trixie is younger too, and Kameron felt like she had no business looking for love among high school girls since she stopped being one of them.

Trixie was in Pearl’s year, though, if Kameron remembers correctly, so she would be out of school by now. She hadn’t expected to see her at riding lessons, but she recognized her on sight.

And _boy_ , she hasn’t gotten any less pretty. Not by a long shot.

 


	2. country roads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is, the chapter of idiots. 
> 
> thank you so much to the people who have left me a note! i'm glad this foolishness has touched hearts and minds. :)

On one hand, seeing Trixie Mattel on a weekly basis, until the children’s riding lessons end for the winter at least, is wonderful purely from the pleasure Kameron gets from seeing a pretty girl. Mixed in with the strong urge to vomit from nerves, there’s a giddy feeling that comes from interacting with such a beauty. Kameron definitely spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about the things Trixie had said, either directly to her or in her presence, immediately after she had left with her family. She tries to replay the words in her head in Trixie’s voice, though the next time they have a five-second conversation she finds that she hasn’t quite gotten the sound right in her recollections.

It doesn’t take long for her to be completely smitten all over again. Kameron likes watching Trixie interact with her siblings, likes how gentle she is even when they’re clearly frustrating her. The way she handles the youngest is especially charming to see, and Kameron has to admit she takes special pains to be gentle with him so she can look good in front of Trixie.

The night before the second week of lessons, she had stayed up practicing what she might say to her the next morning. She only managed to prepare simple questions about what she’s been up to since school, and any interests she might have, but she had greeted the sunrise feeling prepared. Actually seeing Trixie in the flesh after thinking about her for a straight week knocked the wind out of her, and all she asked her was if Trixie remembered that they had gone to school together.

Kameron remembers watching her blink in confusion, nod slowly.

“Yes,” Trixie had said. “I wasn’t sent to boarding school.”

Kameron had laughed in her humiliation, didn’t dare to speak to her again with anything more complex than a _see you next week_. Trixie had been wearing a yellow checkered sundress that day, with her hair piled into a messy bun. She had freckles along both her shoulders, and was a little flushed from the late summer heat. She’d put on a simple choker with a little flower ornament at the front. She looked absurdly pretty.

Kameron wanted to hold her hand, but she settled for fantasizing about it as soon as she was alone. Her fantasies soon take a more sexual turn, with images of biting at the little flower on Trixie’s choker, laying kisses along her freckles. She kisses the skin above her breasts, her dress pooling at her feet. Kameron’s hands knead at those glorious tits. She’s got Trixie pressed up against her red 2007 Ford F-150, the sun is shining.

She’s already come when she realizes that if the truck had been sitting in the sun, it was probably burning to the touch. Even if she’d moved Trixie inside, the heat would have been suffocating, and her A/C is so patchy it might not have made up for the weather. Kameron usually has to roll her windows down while driving.

All of this floods her consciousness before she recalls that although Bertha (as she has lovingly christened her truck) has seen worse days, she’d definitely need a wash before she could even think of fucking Trixie against her.

Bertha is honestly no place to be fucking _anyone_ , let alone _Trixie Mattel_. She gets a couple more shameful orgasms out of the thought of it. It’s hard to look Trixie in the eye the next Saturday.

The last time Kameron attended church, it was to bury her parents. She didn’t lose her habit of praying, she simply chose a different location to converse with God. The violence of her affections has led her to think it might be her time to make peace with Jesus Christ and start going to church again.

Sunday finds her standing with Eureka’s family, enduring the hee-hawing laughter of her oldest friend as she takes in the reason Kameron has chosen to delight her with her company.

“Please stop,” Kameron sighs. “Her family might already be here.”

“The _truck,_ Kameron?” Eureka chokes out, with great difficulty, through peals of laughter. “And you’re at church because of _that_ ? Baby, that’s not even the worst thing you could have thought of but _shit_ that’s where your mind goes?”

Kameron silently ponders how, in over twenty years of friendship, she hasn’t learned that sharing her innermost thoughts with Eureka is not always the wisest choice. Especially on a Sunday morning, at church.

Asking Eureka to react quietly to anything is like asking a fish to walk on land years after nature decreed they were better off in the water. She bravely continues to poke fun at Kameron for her ridiculous behaviour, even though her laughter makes it physically difficult. It’s classic Eureka. She gleefully waves the third member of their little friend-family, Vanessa (commonly known as Vanjie for unknown reasons), over to where they’re sitting.

Only the fear of God is strong enough to end their laughter at Kameron’s expense, and that’s only during the service. Kameron begins to contemplate atheism.

***

Trixie usually puts some distance between herself and her family at church, stating that if she truly wants to bask in the guiding light of Jesus Christ, it helps to be exempt from her part in the rearing of her siblings. Her mother never fails to point out that Trixie is not religious in the least, but her parents are aware enough of how much they rely on Trixie as an extra parent that they allow it. If Katya had been around, she might have come to keep her company, even though her family isn’t really the churchgoing type. Since she has yet to return home, Trixie sits with Max instead.

Max Malanaphy is a sweet girl. They were usually involved in community theatre together, and sometimes did group projects at school. Trixie was once invited to study with Max at her house, and when they were alone in her bedroom, she pulled a small box out from under her bed. Inside that box were copies of Marilyn Monroe’s nudes. Max had blushed, assured her that she appreciated them for _aesthetic_ purposes, whatever that meant. Trixie isn’t sure if she hallucinated the whole thing.

Max hopes to become a schoolteacher in town. She’s one of the few people from their grade who didn’t stick around strictly out of necessity. She loves their town, and can be relied on to be around indefinitely. Since she’s nice enough, and they have some common ground, Trixie has been turning to her for company more often ever since her best friends left for college.

“I wonder what that’s all about,” Max whispers, as if the service has already begun.

Trixie shrugs, glances over to the source of all the noise. Anyone in town should be able to recognize Eureka O’Hara’s voice, and it’s accompanying laugh, but she is still compelled to take a look.

Seeing Kameron, she quickly turns her eyes away. The week before, she’d given a _stupid_ , bratty response to something Kameron had said, and this week Kameron hadn’t quite been able to meet her eye. God, she’s a mess.

The only reason Trixie isn’t a virgin is because Katya was nervous about her first time too, so they decided to be each other’s guinea pigs. She’s absolutely hopeless when it comes to girls, and she wishes she could take a swig of whatever Kim has been sipping in Chicago. She ponders how her pussy is doomed to gather dust forever more, while Max scours the room for something she can look at to pass the time.

Violet Chachki’s grand entrance is the last big event before the service begins. She always cuts it pretty close to the start of things, though no matter when she appears she is sure to draw the eye of the entire congregation, so she really has no need to time herself that carefully.

There’s no way she turns up out of a profound love for Christ. Violet started wearing heels in her freshman year of high school, and would purposefully walk in such a way that the sound of her unnecessarily elegant shoes on the tile would carry. She has always had an obvious need to be the center of attention, but she never seems to be begging for it. To Violet, going to church on Sunday is about holding a one-woman fashion show in front of a captive audience, and the most infuriating thing about it all is that the town plays right into her hands. There’s a weekly column in the local paper dedicated to commenting on Violet Chachki’s church attire. Trixie has never actually spoken to her, but she doubts she’d like her any better if she did. Just thinking about her makes her feel like she’s fighting for dominance.

Today, Violet is wearing a sheer, nude, flowy dress with delicate flowers above the hem. She’s paired it with a tight, black bodysuit, sleeveless, and it’s probable that if she was not at church she would have exposed more under her dress-that-barely-counts-as-a-dress. Everything goes as far as a little above the knee, and she’s wearing her (knock off) Louboutins, adding that clicking sound she loves so much to her walk. She has gathered her hair into a bun at the base of her neck, a black fascinator adorned with a puff of lace is perched on top of her head.

“Why does she always look like she’s burying an ex-husband?” Trixie wonders aloud.

“I don’t know,” says Max, breathily. “She’s incredible.”

Trixie shakes her head. It’s too quiet without Katya.

She rejoins her family after the service, to keep her mother company while she slowly considers divorcing her husband for being a social butterfly. Tayla loves post-church socializing too, can be found chatting away with her very best friends while their father catches up on any bits of gossip that might have materialized since the last time he left the house. The rest of the family gathers into a dejected little group on the front steps.

Trixie’s mother yawns. “This is the part where I atone for my sins from last week,” she says.

Trixie pats her on the shoulder. The twins are occupied with their phones, and Toby’s slumped against their mother, who’s rubbing circles on his shoulder with her thumb. The unsociable Mattels are a pathetic, but peaceful little crowd, and Trixie really doesn’t mind spending time with her family like this. If she’s forced to admit it, she likes them even when the kids are bouncing off the walls and her parents gleefully let her take care of it.

She whips her head around when she hears the sound of her name, looks around for the source until she sees Vanessa Mateo heading towards her, waving and dragging Kameron behind her.

“Hey, Trixie Mattel,” Vanessa rasps. Trixie marvels at how interconnected small town life is, how the two of them know each other’s full names without having much of a relationship.

Kameron still can’t quite look at her, seems flushed from the exertion of crossing the chapel.

“Hello,” says a bemused Trixie.

“Kameron’s wondering if you’d like to go for a ride or something,” says Vanessa. “Just the two of you. She’s shy, that’s why I’m helping her.”

Trixie looks at Kameron, failing to meet her eye.

“Is she, really?” she asks, sceptical. She immediately wants to beat herself with a blunt object.

Vanessa gives Kameron a conspicuous nudge.

Kameron nods, furiously in the affirmative.

Trixie has no idea what’s going on, but she’s intrigued enough to accept the offer. She gives her mother a quick glance.

Her mother waves her off.

“Call us if you decide to elope,” she drawls.

Thus, Trixie ends up on a leisurely drive with Kameron Michaels.

***

In hindsight, this is Trixie and Kameron’s first date.

Kameron has rolled all the windows down, to give the A/C time to decide if it will perform its job or not. So far, it doesn’t seem to be feeling it. She’s put on some music to try and fill the awkward silence between them. Somehow, the radio station is set to some god awful modern country station, and the two of them are suffering through the worst of country music’s present, though the station claims otherwise.

Kameron doesn’t mind country at all, but she prefers the classics. Trixie would have to agree with her, but she’s too worried about stepping on Kameron’s toes to ask for a change of station. Kameron doesn’t want to take the initiative, in case Trixie likes the stuff.

Trixie’s hands are balled up on her lap, she’s chewing on her lower lip and gazing out the passenger window. The light makes her hair shine. Kameron keeps her eye on the road. As lovely as it would be to die watching the sunlight illuminate Trixie’s hair, she’d rather not. And one can’t be too careful while driving.

“I’m sorry if I was rude to you,” Trixie says. “When you asked about school.”

Kameron doesn’t know what to make of that.

“You weren’t rude,” she replies.

“Oh,” Trixie says.

On the radio, Sam Hunt compares his beloved’s body to a dirt road.

Kameron remembers having spent hours thinking of conversation topics, so she could talk to the very girl sitting next to her, but the last time she tried putting her effort into practice it didn’t end well. She stays silent because she’s afraid that if she opens her mouth, she’ll just end up apologizing for wanting to fuck her on her truck. If she’d let her, Kameron would lay her down on a nice, soft bed instead. She’s smart enough to know telling all of this to Trixie wouldn’t be the most charming thing to do.

“So, you like horses,” Trixie says, cautiously.

Kameron nods. “I’ve been around them all my life,” she says. “Sometimes I think I like them more than people.”

She feels herself start to sweat.

“It’s not that I don’t like people,” she says, thinking it important for Trixie to know that. “I just, uh, know how to handle the horses.”

“I understand,” says Trixie.

The ensuing silence feels a little softer, somehow. Kameron feels a little braver, but not much.

“You’re great with your little brother.”

Trixie lets out a little laugh. It’s sweet to Kameron, but Trixie puts a hand over her mouth after.

“Yeah, my parents say that all the time to get me to babysit,” she says. “Toby’s sweet. He’s my favourite, but don’t tell the others.”

She pauses for a moment, then realizes she’s forgotten something.

“Thanks, though,” she says. “You’re great with the horses. And thanks for making Toby feel comfortable at the lessons, I really appreciate that.”

Kameron thanks her for the compliment.

She asks to pull over for a bit, so she can take some air. She doesn’t explain that she needs a breather, but Trixie doesn’t ask. She herself takes a little time to slump back against the seat and close her eyes for a moment.

Kameron feels a little ridiculous, standing by the hood of her car on the side of a dirt road, but she can feel some of the tension leave her body. It’s not going that badly, she thinks. She takes a look at the unimpressive vistas around them. A nearby billboard bids her to consider the threat of hellfire before turning away from Jesus. She’s just glad to be away from the radio, even if only for a minute.

Trixie steps out of the car and joins her. “It’s hot in there,” she explains. Kameron nods, smiles to try and put her at ease. She regards her for a moment. Up until now, she’s been too caught up in her own nerves to really check on how Trixie was. Trixie smiles back at her, but her eyes dart around and her hands are clasped in front of her.

_Get it together, Michaels._

Kameron stares at the ground. She spots a couple of morning glories sprouting up on the side of the road.

“I like those,” Trixie says, apparently having followed her gaze.

Later on, Kameron will stew for hours on end, wondering if perhaps she’s better off declaring celibacy. Trixie will recount the incident to Kim in as much detail as her addled mind will retain; together they will attempt to decipher what exactly happened, and what it meant.

Kameron stoops down, gently picking a morning glory as if she knows what in the hell she’s doing. She turns to Trixie, beautiful weed in hand, and inches close enough to gently nudge at her fringe. Her heart is lodged in her throat.

“May I?” she says, fingers just about reaching into Trixie’s hair.

Trixie stares at her for a moment, nods dumbly.

Kameron then settles the blossom in Trixie’s hair.

“God, you’re pretty,” she says. She will never be able to pinpoint the exact moment where her mind gave her mouth the go-ahead to voice the clearest thought that flits through her mind when she looks at Trixie.

Trixie gulps. “Uh, thank you,” she squeaks.

Their eyes lock. Trixie feels like she should be preparing to be kissed.

Kameron’s rational mind is catching up with her recent actions, which bodes ill for her ability to carry this spontaneous gallantry through. She blinks, her eyes widen, and a sharp fear takes over.

In hindsight, she thinks she could have kissed her. She’s not sure if she _should_ have, but if she had, it probably would have made sense. Instead, she steps back, flustered, more out of breath than she was when they stopped the car.

She waits until she can see Trixie unlock her front door after driving her home, cursing herself throughout.

***

Katya doubts telling everyone she was on holiday in the French Riviera for four months will really cut it. She’d gotten Anton to tell her if there were rumours back home, and his answer confirmed that she doesn’t stand to fool anyone with that lie. She suggested, then, that they should say she’s been laid low by a stubborn demon that wouldn’t vacate the premises for the past four months. The exorcism was grueling, she’ll say, but the priest thinks she has a decent chance of living a normal life despite the haunted look in her eyes.

She thinks of the skateboard she had when she was younger. Uncle Mitya had surprised her with it on one of his visits, and within an hour of having it she was in the emergency room with a broken arm. What really tickled the town was that a day after she got her cast off, she fell off the jungle gym, laughing at something Trixie had said, and broke the same arm. She’s also been noted in the local paper for getting her head stuck in the same fence, twice. Her counsellor wasn’t amused when she told her she’d probably wind up in rehab again, at least once, since she has to make the same mistake twice to learn.

She feels calm, and she holds on to that for now. She’s flunked out of being an adult, and now her parents will hold her hand until she can prove she’s better. She remembers feeling paralyzed on her way to college, and maybe it’s a relief that she gets to go home.

She counts to ten in her head.

Anton is always precisely on time unless unexpected forces prevent it. He was born 40 years old, so it’s fitting that Katya will be a toddler forever to make up for what an easy child her brother must have been. She’s been told she’s too hard on herself, that it would be more helpful if she could take a kinder view to her capabilities, but she’s always felt like the world has ignored all available evidence and pronounced her some kind of whiz kid. She’s always known she’s not, and maybe now her opinion on the matter will be taken more seriously.

Katya watches Anton approach her where she’s been waiting for him, right on the dot, down to the second.

“Anton Petrovich,” she says, in her Masterpiece Theatre Voice: Russian Edition.

He sighs.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he says, holding his hand out for her to take.

She wishes he’d called her _Yekaterina Petrovna_ , like he was supposed to.

 


	3. my dumbass friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the stupid continues, a touching reunion happens, and the roast of kameron michaels may never end.
> 
> i split this off of a beastly chapter that was getting a bit longer than i wanted for this story. chapter 4 should be coming along shortly, unless the roll i’m on comes to an abrupt stop.

Trixie knows what to expect when she calls on the Zamolodchikovs, but it still stings a little to be told Katya doesn’t want to see her just then.

“I’ll talk to her,” Katya’s mother, Dr. Zamolodchikova says. “Maybe you can come tomorrow.”

“She’s good here,” adds Katya’s grandfather, the now retired Dr. Zamolodchikov. “We have naloxone kit.”

“Papa, please,” says Dr. Zamolodchikov, Katya’s father. “She was taking uppers, I think.”

Katya’s grandfather shrugs. “Maybe she try fentanyl one day.”

Trixie compliments Dr. Zamolodchikova on her great taste in scones. Dr. Zamolodchikova tells her she got them at the nearest grocery store, where the entire town gets their groceries. Trixie sips on the apple juice she was given. She invents some pressing responsibility that bids her to leave them. She’ll wait for them to call her when Katya wants to see her.

Trixie’s still baffled by her drive with Kameron.

Kim, with appropriate commentary on how ridiculous the whole thing was, had honed in on what she felt was the most important fact: that Kameron had said she was pretty.

“Also she put a fucking flower in your hair,” Kim added.

But Kameron hadn’t _kissed_ her, and Trixie can’t imagine what she could have done to deter her. Maybe Trixie had inadvertently put her under some kind of spell, and Kameron snapped out of it before she’d fully leaned in. Maybe Kameron was into being a total gallant and then _not_ kissing girls.

Maybe she just realized she didn’t actually _want_ to kiss Trixie, though it would have been appreciated if she’d arrived at that conclusion before making Trixie’s heart beat like the wings of a hummingbird. She’d considered driving to Katya’s so one of her family members could check her for signs of a heart attack, later that night, looking back on the lead up to their non-kiss. Thinking about that might have led her to hastily try to visit her, as soon as she knew she’d be home.

Trixie is waiting to be able to tell Katya all about the whole Kameron incident, and everything else she hasn’t gotten to fill her in on while communication has been cut off. Katya _needs_ her space, Trixie knows that, but this is the first time in eighteen years that they haven’t known exactly what was going on in each other’s lives.

Well, okay, the drugs and her obvious struggles in college were likely going on longer than Trixie’s knowledge of them, but Katya has been her best friend since childhood. Kim’s an old friend, but she became a part of their little clique when they had to go to the next town over for high school. Before that, it was just Trixie and Katya, best friends with no secrets between them.

Katya’s only been back for about a day. It _makes sense_ that she’ll want to be alone for a while. It’s difficult for Trixie to accept this, but she has to, even though she just wants to look at her, to see with her own eyes that she’s safe.

A day or so after that, she gets her wish. Katya texts her, asking if she’d like to meet up at her house.

***

There’s a tire swing in front of Katya’s house, probably the strongest in the world after having survived her childhood exuberance and continued use into adulthood. Katya thinks it might fall one day, because these things happen, but swaying in half circles on a swing that’s managed to hold her all this time is soothing.

She didn’t want to see Trixie, and it’s not because she doesn’t love her. She loves Trixie very much, she’s probably her favourite person ever and has been for almost her whole life. In fact, she loves her so much she’s terrified of facing her disappointment.

Her family is ashamed of her. Sure, they won’t tell her, and they’re as loving as ever, but there’s a skittishness to them when she’s around that wasn’t there before. She appreciates her grandfather for being blunt enough about his feelings to earnestly reassure her that if she ever wants to try fentanyl, they are equipped to save her from overdose. Those comments upset her parents greatly, but Katya appreciates the honesty.

Trixie is also a part of her family, and by that logic, would probably be ashamed of her too. Katya has always had Trixie’s unwavering support, and endured her often stern assurances that she believes in Katya’s potential. It hurts her to imagine what she must think about her now that she’s squandered all of that potential, and in record time too.

There’s a strong, motherly energy to Trixie, one that’s never failed to make Katya feel safe when she turned to her for comfort growing up. She’s not the most touchy-feely person, but if you need it, Trixie will hold you close to her (honestly glorious, magnificent, unfairly beautiful) chest; it’s the most soothing fucking place to be when you’re having a crisis. When she’s frustrated enough to yell, she’s terrifying, but when she’s trying to comfort someone her voice takes on this soft, lullabye-esque tone that Katya has always liked. She wants to rush into her arms, but she’s scared that they won’t be open to her, because the truth is she fucked up _hard_ this time.

Trixie cared about her enough to stay up all night helping her with her valedictorian speech the night before graduation, to rush over to hers well after dark because she’d called her in tears. Katya had waited too long to start working on it, and she’d received plenty of gentle reminders from her family and friends so it hadn’t slipped her mind or anything, but Trixie didn’t scold her for that when she showed up to help. She would even take her calls when she woke up at 3am in Columbus, feeling homesick and out of her depth. Everyone had always told her how brilliant she was, and she couldn’t shake the weight of those expectations as she struggled with getting into the swing of college-level courses. Katya used to unload all of her feelings on an ever-patient Trixie, crying through the phone in the middle of the night when she knew Trixie needed to wake up early so she could feed her cows and make it to her own classes.

At some point, Katya started to feel like she needed to grow up, and she promised herself that she would handle things on her own from then on. She didn’t want Trixie to spend every day of her life worrying about her. She was perfectly capable of doing all her worrying _herself_.

And then she found other ways to soothe her fears. They just kinda sorta made things worse, to the point where her roommate contacted her family to let them know she needed help. She’s starting to forgive Alaska for this, but she’s not quite done being angry.

Aside from the whole recovering drug addict situation, Katya had distanced herself from Trixie, kept her in the dark when she’s the first person she’s always turned to. Even if, by some miracle, Trixie isn’t disappointed in Katya for her weakness, she might not be able to forgive her lack of trust in her.

So, Katya came home with the resolve to hide from her, like a coward. It lasted all of a day, and now she’s twisting herself around on the tire swing, waiting for her best friend. She watches the ropes twist together, slowly, until she lets go so she can begin again.

Somehow, she doesn’t hear Trixie pull in, so when she appears before her at the end of one of her turns Katya almost thinks it’s by magic.

“Hey,” Trixie says, soft and cautious, as if she’s trying to calm a skittish street cat so she can offer it food. It’s a relief, but at the same time it isn’t. Katya is a master at stubbornly believing the worst. She does not discount the possibility that Trixie could be hiding her displeasure.

She stops the swing, plasters the smile Trixie’s used to seeing when she’s well on her face. “You’re here!”

Trixie smiles wryly. “You summoned me.”

It’s not an unusual retort for Trixie, but Katya flinches. Trixie’s eyes widen.

“I mean you’re right!” she adds, hastily. “I _am_ here!”

Katya forces out a chuckle, to diffuse the tension.

“Wanna sit?”

Trixie nods, though still looking somewhat sheepish. Katya hopes it’ll fade with time.

Trixie climbs on, declaring her hope that the swing won’t give out with her weight. They stew in their tension together for a while, awkwardly coordinating their movements so they could sway a little on the swing.

“So,” Trixie says, finally. “How are you?”

“I feel like I’ve been reborn,” Katya says, a touch loudly to affect confidence. “I have found the love of Jesus Christ and am embarking on my true path as one of his faithful warriors.”

Trixie gives her attempt a kind smile.

“I’m really fine!” Katya adds, before she can give Trixie the chance to reply. “I’m totally better. I even have a job.”

Nepotism and Divine Providence has blessed her with a position at her mother’s clinic in town, working the front desk. Ginger’s taking her mat leave soon, so Katya will start off part-time while she decompresses, and while she still has Ginger’s wisdom at hand. Hopefully by the time Ginger’s ready to go on leave, Katya will be the best receptionist _ever_. Knowing Ginger, she’ll visit often to make sure Katya hasn’t burned the place down. How they’ll stop her from giving birth right at the practice so she can be there to supervise Katya is a bridge they’ll have to cross when they reach it.

Trixie listens patiently while Katya tells her all of this.

“Look at you,” she says. “A working woman.”

Katya shrugs. “I’m a _professional_.”

Katya’s brain then decides it’s appropriate to laugh. She gets it, the whole set up is a fucking riot and a half, but it gives off a jarring effect which Katya could have done without.

Trixie looks like she’s trying to swallow her words. Katya thinks she can hear the sound of worms burrowing away under them, deep in the earth.

_Please stop looking like that. Please._

“I missed you,” Trixie says, watching their feet guide the swing. She searches for Katya’s hands, wraps her own around them so she can squeeze them as they hold the strings.

“Let’s go inside,” Katya says. “Watch a movie, or something.”

Trixie lets her put on _Contact_ , and Katya is able to slowly ease them into a comfortable snuggle. It feels good to be with Trixie like this, familiar.

But they don’t talk.

***

Vanjie begins to cough from the force of her laughter. She is on the ground, vainly attempting to hold herself up with her trembling arms.

Meanwhile, Monique holds her phone to Kameron’s frowning face.

“America!” she gasps. “America! What we have here is a whole fool! A whole damn fool!”

Vanjie sounds a bit like a garburator.

“I don’t know why I even leave the house anymore,” Kameron says, sulkily.

She’s already lived through telling Eureka all about her drive with Trixie. It’s a miracle Eureka lived through the experience, she seemed to be on the precipice of a stroke by the time Kameron was done telling her story, but live she did. Kameron almost wishes she hadn’t, because the first thing she did was call Vanjie to relay the sad tale, on speakerphone, so that Kameron could hear her reactions.

Being a naive fool, Kameron still showed up at the Farmer’s Market to hang out with Vanjie at Monique’s booth. She should have known she’d been invited to be laughed at.

“Bitch, this is my second time hearing that story and I just can’t,” Vanjie says, her voice raspier than usual, as she clambers back to her feet.

Monique presses a bottle of her homemade chocolate milk into Kameron’s hand, having had her laugh and taken her video. “You’re such an idiot, take this on the house, you deserve God’s grace for your foolishness. He’s the only one who can help you now.”

Kameron continues sulking, but she’s not about to reject free chocolate milk, especially when it’s as good as Monique’s. She turns the bottle so that the label faces outward. Monique has drawn a picture of her favourite cow, sporting a great big grin, and added _Stunning, Brown Cow!_ in bubbly letters for her logo. It’s very eye-catching, but under the present circumstances it makes Kameron feel like even the milk is mocking her.

Vanjie creeps to her side, swinging an arm around her. The force causes a bit of milk to get on her shirt. Kameron remembers that it’s Saturday morning, so she’ll have to change into a shirt that doesn’t have milk on it for riding lessons. She coaxes her mind out of that train of thought before she has some kind of fit, since thoughts of riding lessons will inevitably lead to Trixie.

“Listen, I didn’t ask you to come just so we could laugh at you,” Vanjie says.

“That was a fucking good laugh, though. If you have any more stories like that _please_ come on back and share. I’ll give you more free milk.” Monique pipes up.

Vanjie shrieks.

Kameron sighs. “Why did you ask me to come, then?”

Vanjie tosses her hair. “You better promise me that you’ll actually kiss her this time.”

Monique chortles.

Kameron’s face burns.

“Here? At the Farmer’s Market?” she asks, seriously questioning the company she keeps.

“Well, you could. She’s right over there.”

Vanjie gestures into the distance, where Trixie and her family have set up their wares. Trixie is in the middle of making hostile faces at the Donigan boy, who is set up across from her. Kameron thinks it’s best to leave her to it, not because a tennis-ball sized lump has formed in her throat at the sight of her, but because she does not see any wisdom in stepping into a battlefield.

“Those two are like that,” Monique says. “Some kind of dairy war. I like to think I’m not included in that mess because I only sell chocolate milk, and neither of them carry that.”

“Sometimes you bake these bomb ass cookies, too,” Vanjie says. “I’m a fan.”

Monique beams. “Thanks, girl. You’re pretty good at baking too, if I remember correctly.”

“Maybe we could team up,” Vanjie says, grinning. “I’ll bake cookies and bring them, to sell with the milk. Milk and cookies go together.”

“So should I just march over there and kiss her?” Kameron says, rubbing at her temple.

Vanjie looks pensive for a moment, returning her attention to Kameron. “Well, that’s actually a great idea and I would encourage that, but that wasn’t the plan. See, I’ve been talking to this dude, trying to get on his dick, you know how it is. Anyway he asked me to go muddin’ tomorrow, ride on his ATV and shit. I guess, and this is fucking brilliant, he figures we can get covered in mud and then go back to his, wash up, and bone. So then I thought, man, you know who would really benefit from this idea? My dumbass friend, Kameron.”

“Thanks,” says Kameron, the Dumbass Friend.

“Where did you find this guy?” Monique queries, raising a damn good point. Vanjie is like a bloodhound for men, it’s amazing she hasn’t exhausted the meagre offerings of their town. She always finds someone new and God only knows where they come from.

Vanjie shrugs, cryptically. “Around.”

She turns back to Kameron.

“You should come. Bring Barbie, and, of course, Bertha. Then, take her home, rub the mud off of her all sexy like, and fuck her. Dude’s bringing a couple of his friends anyway, I wanted to balance out the sausage fest with people I know. You getting laid will just be a sweet bonus.”

“I thought I was only expected to kiss her.”

“Girl, do what you want with your life,” Vanjie throws her arms up, exasperated. “But this is an opportunity for you to spend some more time with her, even if you want to court her like a fucking Downtown Abbey gentleman. You can ask her now, or at the lessons, but I’m expecting to see both of you there. I’ll text you the details.”

She then turns to Monique, who has further questions about the mystery guy with the privilege of taking Vanjie on his noble ATV, and if she’s welcome to go check out the sausage fest too.

Kameron chooses to wait as long as possible before asking Trixie, but she can feel the burn of Vanjie’s judging eyes long after they’re apart. She takes her aside after the lessons.

To her surprise, Trixie says yes.


	4. shut up and dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now witness the miracle of lesbians opening their third eyes.
> 
> also witness me writing about things i have zero experience with and hoping it’s not horrible.

Trixie hates getting dirty. The fact that she loves to take unnecessary long baths doesn’t quite make up for the equally true fact that she doesn’t like being grimy, especially if she has to bear with it for a length of time before she can wash the dirt off. She hadn’t thought it through when she agreed to go— _sigh_ —muddin’ with Kameron, and she regrets it a little. The likelihood that she will come away from this afternoon without a thick coat of grime is very low.

The thought of _Kameron_ getting dirty, though, almost helps Trixie understand why she’s found herself in her truck, en route to what she knows damn well will be a barely tolerable time. Her spank bank, at least, will thank her. Also, the shock of Kameron expressing interest in taking her out somewhere, _anywhere_ , after their last outing may have addled her mind.

Kim had cheered when she’d told her the news that night.

“Trixie Mattel,” she said. “This is the best decision you’ve made in years.”

The radio station has changed since the last time Trixie had been in Kameron’s truck, and she’d commented on how much she liked the change. Kameron had blurted out that she’d been worried about changing it the last time, in case Trixie was secretly a fan of bro country. She’d turned beet red when Trixie had laughed and teased her about how cruelly she’d judged her, and stammered out so many apologies that Trixie had to make it clear that there were no hard feelings.

Something clicks in Trixie’s mind after that exchange. She reviews their previous interactions with the idea that Kameron might actually be _nervous_ around her, and finds her unbearably cute in hindsight. She watches Kameron as she drives, eyes fixed on the road with the occasional nervous glance at Trixie. She looks fairly dolled up, with her makeup done, hair teased into looking stylishly windblown, a floral button down in pastel tones. Trixie would admit this level of care is pretty unnecessary when they’re going to spend the day mucking around wantonly, but she herself came out with a full face of makeup, and dusted off her pink daisy dukes to look good for Kameron. She likes to think that Kameron did the same for her.

Trixie tries to keep her smile gentle, reassuring, like when she wants to calm Toby or Katya. It seems to remind Kameron to keep her eyes on the road. Trixie notices a faint blush on Kameron’s face, and though it is entirely possible that it could just be sunburn, she won’t discount the possibility that Kameron might just be flustered by her presence because…

Because she’s interested.

Of course, Trixie’s no mind reader, so there is _still_ a margin for error. But she’s starting to think she might have a shot, and if her hunch is correct, the discomfort of getting covered in mud might be worth testing it.

“So,” she says. “Do you do this often?”

“Uh,” Kameron takes a minute to formulate her response. “I guess. I mean I’ve gone a few times, I’m not _super_ experienced but you’ll be safe. I’m good at fixing cars. Not that anything _horrible_ will happen—”

“Is it fun?” Trixie interrupts. She can recognize the signs of someone spiraling into anxiety. Perhaps she’s no expert at handling it, but she thinks guiding the conversation away from Kameron’s level of muddin’ experience might help.

“Yeah,” Kameron says. “It’s more Vanjie’s thing, but it can be a nice day out. Plus if someone fucks up their truck and wants it fixed, Eureka can get some work.”

“Oh, nice.” Trixie’s no more excited than she was when she asked, but Kameron seems a little more relaxed. “Do you fix cars for fun? You said you were good.”

It’s a testament to what a princess Trixie has always been that she’s not knowledgeable in the subject of cars. She can change a tire and that’s it.

“Mostly, yeah. But sometimes I take gigs, for a little extra cash.”

Trixie nods and hums.

“I should do something like that,” she says. “I mean, something other than just helping out at home and selling stuff at the farmer’s market.”

“That’s plenty, though,” Kameron says.

Trixie shrugs. “I don’t know. I just always feel like I should be doing more.”

They share a short silence.

“You’re just ambitious,” Kameron says. “It’s neat that you want to push yourself.”

It’s getting a little too personal. Trixie doesn’t want to spend the rest of the ride bemoaning her situation in life. But she smiles, and thanks Kameron for her sweet words.

***

They can hear the revelry as they pull in; joyful whoops, loud music, someone apparently made a geyser out of their beer and the force is strong enough that it cuts through the din. Trixie’s stomach turns a little.

They decide to park and say hello to Kameron’s friends. Kameron all but sprints to Trixie’s side of the truck, accidentally taking a hit from the door as Trixie opened it. Poor thing had intended to help her down like a chivalrous knight. Instead, Trixie jumps down on her own so she can make sure she hasn’t hurt her too badly. Kameron insists that she’s fine, that Trixie opened the door gently enough that she barely saw any stars upon impact.

Trixie uses this as an opportunity to insist that Kameron steady herself against her, so she can drape her arm over her shoulder.

Someone’s set up a barbecue, and some chairs. Trixie braces herself for an afternoon spent munching on corn, with a side of more corn. Maybe some coleslaw, for variety.

The first familiar face they come across is Monique Heart, who laughs inexplicably at the sight of them.

“You made it!” she says. “Is she good, though?”

Monique gestures to Kameron, still leaning against Trixie.

“I hit her with the car door,” Trixie says, sheepishly.

Monique collapses in laughter.

“Lord Jesus, you two are comedy gold.”

They let Kameron sit for a while. Monique has muscled her way into becoming mistress of the barbecue, with little resistance by her own account. The men present are currently occupied with rescuing a fallen truck from the mud pit. Eureka is among them. Monique offers them some refreshments, and Trixie is pleasantly surprised to learn that she’s brought a couple of veggie patties just in case someone needs it.

“It’s no fun at these things if you have nothing to eat,” Monique says.

Trixie wants to hug her.

Vanessa Call-Me-Vanjie Mateo emerges from a thicket, hand in hand with some beefcake. Trixie feels better about being a little overdressed, since Miss Vanjie has also created a perfectly curated outfit, and paired it with an instagram-worthy face just to finish the look with a healthy coating of dirt. She drops her gentleman’s hand as soon as she sees them, and rushes over to where they are, screaming with joy.

“Kameron! Girl, you did it!”

Trixie’s a little confused by that, and by the quasi-hug she receives from Vanjie, who has the delicacy to avoid pressing their bodies together too hard so that Trixie can stay relatively clean.

“If you’re gonna get dirty, I’d rather you get in the mud yourself,” Vanjie says, cheerfully. She nearly dies when Monique fills her in on the car door situation.

Up until that point, Trixie’s managed to evade the dirt. She’s enjoyed Monique’s company greatly, with Kameron content to observe them. Sometimes Vanjie will derail the conversation to focus on Kameron’s many virtues. A sweet little blush appears on Kameron’s face when that happens, and Trixie smiles goofily from how cute it is. She siddles up next to Kameron, while Vanjie and Monique leave them to share conspiratorial whispers.

“You alright?” Trixie asks, still feeling guilty over having ruined her attempts at gallantry so spectacularly.

“I wasn’t hurt,” Kameron insists.

Trixie nods. “As long as you won’t resent me for the rest of your life.”

“I would never,” Kameron says, earnestly. Trixie’s cheeks burn at the intensity.

Vanjie leaves them to attend to her guy, who has seduced her away from them with the promise of a muddy ATV ride. Monique also excuses herself to take her chances with the boys, none of whom Trixie knows from Adam upon further inspection. They seem to have manifested just so their little gathering can count as a party, and to do the lion’s share of the mud slinging. The void Vanjie and Monique leave behind is quickly filled by Eureka.

Trixie has to admit she has a limited tolerance for certain _types_ of big personalities. Simply put, she struggles to get along with people who seek the spotlight too aggressively, mostly because she isn’t too keen on having to fight for it. Trixie likes being a big fish in a small pond. It might not be the best way to be, but we all have our negative qualities.

Eureka ignites her instinct to fight, clinching Trixie’s enmity by greeting her with a great big hug. This alone wouldn’t usually bother her, she may be one of the few people in her area who isn’t a hugger and has had a lifetime to adjust to that, but Eureka had been wading in a mud pit not too long ago, making it extra undesirable to be touched that way by her. By the looks of it, she went back for a couple of extra rolls for a more even coating. And unlike Vanjie, Eureka pulled her in tight.

Trixie thinks of Kameron, who has been known to be friendly with this woman and would therefore not enjoy watching Trixie pop right off on her. She returns the hug, but can’t transform her grimace into a real smile.

“It’s just mud! It won’t kill you, princess!” Eureka says with a jovial laugh, clapping her on the back.

Trixie seethes, and attempts a good-natured giggle in response. Eureka has already moved on to pestering Kameron.

“Are you gonna drive, or are you thinking of sitting there all tragic-like all afternoon?”

Kameron quietly explains that everyone around her is convinced she’s injured. Eureka howls at the explanation for her condition.

“Girl, why is it that every time you hang out with Barbie, you come out with some dumb ass story like this?”

Kameron sighs. “Eureka, she’s sitting right there.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry, Barbie.”

Eureka claps Trixie on the back again. Trixie hates it. She shrugs at the apology, and tells her it’s alright without actually forgiving her.

“We’ve been hanging out with Vanjie and Monique,” Kameron says. “It’s been nice.”

“What’s the point if you’re not gonna see if Bertha can get through the mud?” Eureka booms. “If you knocked a couple of screws loose, maybe Barbie can drive. Unless Barbie’s scared of the mud.”

This is the longest she’s interacted with Eureka, and she’s already pinpointed her weakness.

Kameron tries to diffuse the situation. “Really, I’m perfectly capable—“

“You don’t think I can drive that thing?” Trixie’s hubris speaks in her stead, nipping Kameron’s noble attempts in the bud.

Eureka gives her a look.

“Never said that,” she says, the picture of feigned innocence.

“Leave her alone,” Kameron groans.

But Trixie is resolute.

“I’ll drive,” she says. “It can’t be that hard. I’m not scared.”

Eureka grins sweetly. “I’m looking forward to it. If Kameron won’t let you drive hers, you can use my truck.”

Eureka settles her gaze on Kameron, expectant. Trixie watches her too, occasionally checking to make sure the mud is clear. She wants to get in there before her mad courage fails her.

Kameron sighs. “If Trixie wants, I’ll let her drive Bertha.”

Eureka laughs, triumphantly, and goes to wave Vanjie and Beefcake down.

***

Kameron knows danger when she sees it, and the look in Trixie’s eye when she said she’d drive has left all her internal alarm systems screaming. That steely, determined gaze remains as Kameron leads her back to the truck, and Trixie talks of nothing but her ability to drive anything she sets her mind to.

“I grew up on a _farm_ , I can even drive stick if you want. You’ll see, you can trust me.”

Kameron nods, agreeing for her life.

“You can put the windows up,” Kameron says. She saw the way Trixie flinched when Eureka hugged her, and the quick, dismayed glance as she surveyed the damage done to her clothes. She also noted how she wasn’t rushing to get them in the mud, and seemed content to just get to know Monique and Vanjie.

Trixie doesn’t like mud, and Kameron brought her to a gathering where the entire point is to get covered in it. Like an idiot.

Trixie shakes her head. “It won’t kill me.”

Kameron lets her be. Her instinct is to tell her that she doesn’t really have to do it, that Eureka can be an ass, and that she shouldn’t let her rattle her. Her bark is worse than her bite. But she can tell Trixie’s made her mind up, so all she’ll do is help her to show Eureka up, in any way she can.

Trixie is both terrifying and adorable, all puffed up with confidence, eyes fierce. She drives to the edge of the pit with purpose, her courage lasting her until the truck breaches the mud. Then, her confidence leaves as quickly as it arrived.

“You okay there?” Kameron says, taking in her stricken expression.

Trixie nods, a bit too quickly to be completely sure of herself. She takes a breath.

Kameron imagines she’s coaxing one of the more nervous horses in her care.

“Just press the accelerator as far down as it goes,” she says, tone even. “You just have to go straight through for me, nothing fancy.”

“I got it,” Trixie replies, softly, to herself.

“There’s a good girl,” Kameron says, fully in her horse training mindset. She blushes furiously at the slip up in a moment of lucidity, but thinks she sees Trixie smile.

Trixie shrieks as they lurch in, holding her foot steady nonetheless. She flinches as the first droplets of mud hit her, but soon relaxes, focused on pushing through the pit.

Kameron can hear herself softly encouraging her all the while, a constant stream of reassurances that she hopes are making a positive impact. Trixie keeps it together pretty well at first, only letting out the occasional squeak when they meet resistance. It’s getting difficult to see outside from the mess they’re making, so Trixie engages the windshield wipers.

For Kameron, this is the exciting part. Though she’d feel it more if she was on the driver’s seat, she’s still feeling the thrill of not quite knowing if they’ll make it, and then succeeding. There’s such a _rush_ that comes with being in the middle of the pit where they could very well get stuck, and then emerging triumphant on the other side.

Kameron’s ended up having to mobilize forces to rescue her vehicle from a muddy grave her fair share of times, and Bertha’s no spring chicken so there really is no guarantee that it won’t happen today. Still, even though she’s in the process of coaching a now screaming Trixie through, she’s convinced the force of this girl’s stubborn determination will propel them forward. She’s betting on Trixie, because she’s besotted by her, and because she’s fucking crazy in the best possible way.

They’re both screaming at the point of greatest resistance, Kameron more out of excess adrenaline than fear. Their screams turn to cheers when they reach the edge.

“You did it!” Kameron screams, beaming brightly.

Trixie is stunned speechless, but she’s grinning back. There are specks of mud on her face, and in her hair. She’s beautiful, and Kameron is so damn proud of her.

They climb out to a small crowd of adoring supporters, entirely made up of Monique, Vanjie, and Eureka, but loud enough to be infectious. The boys whose party Vanjie’s infiltrated so well to join in, distracted from their keg by the noise.

In the heat of the moment, Kameron gathers Trixie into her arms and spins her.

***

They’re closer to Kameron’s, and after the thrill of driving through the pit wears off Trixie becomes visibly miserable about her state of uncleanliness. It’s logical, then, for Kameron to offer her the option of washing up back at hers before she drives her home. Vanjie’s giving her this annoying, knowing look and a wink, but Kameron is not expecting anything to come out of taking Trixie home with her. It’s not like picking a woman up at the bar. Trixie might want to take it slower. Kameron still can’t help thinking about the slight possibility of getting her in bed, though she tells herself not to get too hung up on the prospect.

“I had a nice time,” Trixie says, opening up conversation for the ride back.

“You were incredible,” Kameron says. She’ll be thinking of the way Trixie looked on the driver’s seat of her truck for many nights to come.

Trixie chuckles. “Not bad for a princess, eh?”

Kameron smiles stupidly. “Not at all.”

Their silences are a little less awkward now.

“Listen,” Kameron says. “I’m sorry about Eureka. She can be a little bit much, but her intentions are usually good.”

Trixie waves her off. “It’s fine. I had a lot more fun than I expected because of her, I guess.”

She glances down at her lap.

“Thank you for bringing me,” she says, after a moment.

“Call me if you want to do it again,” Kameron replies.

Trixie winks, tells her she will. She looks out the window, while Kameron focuses back on the road.

Kameron took over her parents’ old room when she was seventeen. She’d slept there from time to time since losing them, and her grandparents finally told her to just move her things over. It has its own adjoining bathroom, and Kameron thanks herself for her attachment to the room as she leads Trixie by the hand. It’s awfully convenient to have a shower so close at hand.

Kameron leaves her sat on the bed so she can grab an extra towel. Kameron uses the walk to the linen closet and back to grow accustomed to the idea of having Trixie Mattel in her bedroom.

“Holy shit,” she mutters to herself, steadying herself on the closet frame. She takes a few deep breaths, and returns to a waiting Trixie.

“Uh,” she says, holding the fresh towel out for her to take. “You can go first. If you want.”

Trixie nods, thanks her softly and takes the towel. Kameron sits down and puts her head in her hands. She thinks about banal things, like what she might have for breakfast, or when she and the girls are supposed to have a gaming night. Vanjie’s the only one in their trio with any real skill, so she’s been going it alone for the most part, but she’d still like to do it again sometime. She tries to keep her thoughts away from Trixie, in her shower, her clothes on her bathroom floor. She’d like to be the one who gets to lather her up with soap. She thinks about puppies.

When it’s her turn in the shower, she’s as quick as she can be. It’s pretty late, and if Trixie still wants to get home, she’ll have to hurry. She’s perfectly willing to just give her one of her old shirts and let her stay over. She’s practically throbbing from her failed attempts to not think about Trixie’s naked body as she bathed, and the glimpse she got of her before she scurried into the bathroom.

Trixie is still sat on the edge of her bed when she emerges, her clothes on the floor next to her feet. There’s a slit where she can’t fully wrap the towel around herself. Kameron’s heart feels like it’s trying to leap out of her chest.

“Are you alright?” she asks, voice high.

Trixie sighs. She raises her head so she can look straight at Kameron. There’s some of the fierceness from earlier in her eyes.

“Kameron,” she says. “What do I have to do to get you to fuck me?”

Kameron feels like her soul has left her body. She stands there, staring at this beautiful creature in stunned silence, until her soul is done processing the situation.

“Not a damn thing,” she says, and gets right to it.


	5. lost in corn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone has been waiting with bated breath for this chapter. well, my darling... this one’s for you.

Violet had done her research, and found that she really didn’t need to lose sleep over a pap test until she turned twenty-one.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m only nineteen,” she’d said, cutting up her steak at dinner.

That did not deter her mother in the least. When she gets an idea in her head, no matter how divorced from reality, Violet’s mother will not let it go. So she continued to stress the importance of Violet getting one done.

“You may be nineteen,” she said. “But you’re also kind of a tramp. God knows what’s going on down there.”

Her father left the dinner table, muttering some hastily invented excuse. How this man has been town mayor for most of Violet’s life is a mystery, he’s the most spineless creature she’s ever had to deal with. Violet has strength enough to hold firm, but only for so long.

She arranges an appointment with Dr. Zamolodchikova, so that her mother will shut the fuck up. All the nagging has been doing her head in, and she has Etsy orders to fulfill.

“It might be good to check for any possible fertility issues, too,” says her mother, having suddenly decided she needed to go into town at the same time as Violet.

There is nothing Violet hates more than being in a car with her mother. It’s too small a space for the both of them. She once broke her arm leaping out of the passenger seat to get away from her, like Saoirse Ronan in _Lady Bird_ . (Violet isn’t sure how her face ended up so wet at the end of that, maybe the theatre had a leaky roof.) She can’t exactly pull that shit when she’s driving, so she just fills silences with _uh-huhs_ or _hmms_ and restrains herself from driving them both into a telephone pole. She curses her father for picking his shitty battles and forcing her to do this.

“You’re not going to college, so I guess you want to get married like your sister,” her mother continues, despite the excruciating lack of interest radiating from her daughter. “You know it took them so long to conceive. Adelaide had no idea something was wrong, none at all! I mean there are lots of things wrong with her, but we had no idea she had _fertility_ issues.”

_Does a pap test even check for that shit?_

“Hmm.”

“Well, Charlie’s a great little boy and we’re glad to have him, but what a journey that was! Still, I wish one of you had gone to college, we’ve really stepped down as a family. And it’s not like we’re poor, we could have sent you! You’re not stupid like Adelaide, so it really shocks me that you’re still here…”

It takes all the strength in her body for Violet not to snort when she starts going on about how Adelaide doesn’t like coming home anymore, and how scarcely she gets to see her grandson, and how it just doesn’t make _sense_ to her that things are fucked up between her and the daughter she’s belittled her whole life.

She heaves a deep sigh of relief when she drops her off at the salon.

She expects nothing from her appointment. She’s known Dr. Zamo for years, and the woman has always been unfailingly professional. Meaning, she’s not going to go out of her way to make banal conversation while she’s swabbing her coochie, so Violet knows it will be a straightforward procedure. The hard part will be finding a way to kill time after, since she’ll have to haul her mother back home with her, and she’ll likely be out of the clinic before her mother’s done with whatever the fuck she’s getting done at the salon. She’s probably just hitting the nail lady up for gossip.

Expecting nothing but boredom, Violet strides into the clinic only to be met with a new face. Instead of the portly, ill-tempered receptionist who’s been working for Dr. Zamo these past hundred years, a pretty girl sits at the front desk, looking down at what must be her phone. A closer look reveals that she’s actually busy sketching out a Van Gogh’s _Starry Night_ style sky (quite a feat in monochrome) around a drawing of a dog with an astronaut helmet on.

“Where’s Ginger?” asks Violet, taken aback.

The girl raises her head to look squarely at Violet. Her cheekbones could cut diamonds.

“I mean,” Violet continues. “You can stay, I’m just curious.”

The girl gives her a 1000-watt smile.

“She’s on a break,” she says. “I’m still in training, but I guess you’re here for an appointment?”

“Yeah,” Violet confirms. “Violet Chachki, 12 o’clock.”

“Violet Chachki 12 O’Clock,” the girl repeats, as if the time is part of her name. She looks at her monitor. “Yep, I see you. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

Violet nods, and waits to be summoned. She watches the girl as she “works”; having paged the doctor, she’s gone back to her more pressing doodles. Violet realizes she’s staring when the girl waves cheerfully back at her, and averts her eyes politely.

She asks the doctor about the new receptionist as they wrap up.

“Oh, that’s just my daughter,” says Dr. Zamo. “Yekaterina will help me out when Ginger has the baby. She’s here now anyway, so she might as well work.”

She frowns, pausing for a moment.

“She’s not much older than you. Didn’t you kids all go to the same school?”

Violet feels like she’s expected to apologize for not having noticed her daughter back in high school. She doesn’t do that, but she does say goodbye to Yekaterina as she passes her on the way out.

“Uh, it’s Katya,” she responds, after a beat. “Call me Katya.”

Violet pivots back to look at her, already at the door.

“See you around, Katya.”

***

Violet knows herself well enough to not sit in disbelief for too long when someone catches her interest, even if it doesn’t make any damn sense. When you want someone, whether it’s just your pussy revving up without your brain’s input, it’s stupid to pretend otherwise. She doesn’t have to jump the person, but she can at least admit to herself that she’d like to and go on with her life.

Going on with her life can involve engaging in some light nonsense, apparently.

Knowing full well that she is in the pink of health, she heads back to the clinic a few days after like, like some hypochondriac. She can’t stop thinking about Dr. Zamo’s pretty daughter.

That day’s expedition, she soon discovers, was a failure before it even began. Katya, it seems, is not a full time member of staff.

“Jesus,” says Ginger, back in her usual spot. “You look like someone took a shit in your cereal this morning.”

Violet does not put her disappointment into words as she tells Ginger that she walked in by mistake, but Ginger seems unconvinced. Still, she doesn’t give a single fuck about any business Violet may or may not have had at the clinic that day, so she lets her walk away in peace.

The next time she drops by, Katya is back at her post.

“Back so soon?” Katya smiles. Today, she’s methodically covering an intricate design she’d been working on in red marker. Her hand moves even as she watches Violet, waiting for a response.

“Yeah,” Violet says. On the inside, she’s sweating.

“Should I see if Dr. Zamolodchikova has a moment?”

Violet tries to record the sound of Katya saying her own last name into her brain, because it’s a little different than how she’s heard it said all her life, and she says it so smoothly. This must be the correct pronunciation.

“Yeah, sure,” she says.

She immediately changes her mind. She can’t imagine sitting in front of Dr. Zamo without an actual reason to see her. She calls out to Katya before she has the chance to page her mother, tells her she’s suddenly feeling much better, and makes a hasty exit.

She’s halfway down the block when she has to stop herself, to really have a heart to heart with herself about why she’s acting like a fool. She’s Violet Chachki. If she puts her mind to it, she could seduce a lamppost. This kind of behaviour is not only unbecoming, it is beneath her.

If she wants to hang out with Katya, she can fucking make it happen. So, back to the clinic she goes.

Katya stares at her, wide eyed in confusion.

“Oh,” she says. “Are you feeling sick again?”

“Can I have your number?” Violet asks, blowing right past the question.

Katya regards her thoughtfully.

“Uh,” she says, biting her lip for a moment before carrying on. “You know, I’m the only one in my family with no medical experience. So I’m probably, like, super useless as a contact. And I’m only here like three times a week until Ginger leaves.”

Violet shakes her head.

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Are you okay?”

The genuine concern on Katya’s features, and in her tone of voice, work together to make Violet want to die on the spot.

“I don’t want your number so I can schedule appointments, or anything like that,” she says.

She can survive rejection. Even though it seldom happens, her self worth isn’t beholden to any one person liking her.

 _Many people are too scared of rejection to even ask,_ she thinks. _At least I’m not a coward._

“Never mind,” she says. “Have a nice day.”

Violet gives herself permission to throw on some melodramatic pop song and cry a little in her car. She brought her crying shades. It’s healthy to let emotions run their course, even if they’re stupid.

“Hey, wait!”

She’s only made it a couple of steps before she’s stopped, and she turns back to face Katya as she tells her what it is she wants.

“I’m so sorry, I’m such an idiot,” Katya says. “I’ll give you my number. I don’t know how I got so confused, who’d ask someone for their number just to hit them up for doctor’s appointments, I mean—“

“Great.”

Violet strides towards her with an extra spring in her step. She watches as Katya plugs her digits into her phone, her hands shaking. Katya puts an emoji of a face blowing a kiss next to her name, and Violet’s heart flutters.

“I’ll text you when to pick me up,” she says.

Violet winks at Katya before she leaves. The astonishment in the other girl’s face excites her like nothing in this podunk Nowheresville of a town has done for years.

***

“Trixie, I’m going to die.”

“Pardon me?”

“I’m dying right now.”

“Shit, do you need me to come hold your hand? Call an ambulance?”

“You can have Sheryl.”

“Katya, I do not want your raccoon. But I’ll take her, I mean, since you’re dying and all.”

“Please look after her when—shit, I gotta go, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Violet expects Katya to pick her up at 8:30, but Katya has been pacing the length of her bedroom and fussing over her appearance for so long she’s pretty sure she’s already late. Calling Trixie had only stalled her, and she can’t leave without taking one last look at her makeup. Katya doesn’t know how to fix her eyeliner, can’t really identify what’s wrong with it, but she knows something needs to be fixed. She remembers she’d actually called Trixie hoping, in a fit of madness, that she could come fix her face for her.

Her cat, Kit-Kat, watches placidly from the bed. Katya pats her on the top of her head before heading off.

She texts Trixie, to let her know she’s alright, before she drives off to Violet’s.

It’s surreal. Violet Chachki is the closest thing this town has to a movie star. She embodies the kind of glamour you don’t expect to see in real life, and she does it so effortlessly. Katya has always admired Violet, though she’d been too busy navigating her own life as best as she could to be infatuated with her.

She’s not the kind of girl Katya would ever expect to be interested in her, not in a million years. Violet’s _cool_ , and Katya is… not really that. She’d have been stupid to reject her, almost did just that on accident, but she’s sure it won’t take long for Violet to regret giving her the time of day. Her palms are sweating so much she thinks they might slip off the steering wheel. If she wasn’t about to have a stroke, Katya would be patting herself on the back for getting a knockout babe to ask her on a date.

Katya can see Violet reclining on her porch swing as she pulls up to her house. She hopes she hasn’t been waiting too long. Violet’s house is actually not that far from her own, both of them having copped a seat among the slightly more well-off inhabitants of their town by accident of birth. Violet’s house is bigger, though.

Katya shoves an arm out her window when she stops in Violet’s driveway, to wave her over. Violet had already stood up as she watched her car approach, and she flounces over to take her place on the seat next to Katya.

“You look nice,” Violet says, by way of greeting.

She’s brought a wine bottle with her, that she says has been waiting to be consumed for years.

“I thought, if they won’t drink it, maybe we should.”

Katya feels beads of sweat form on her hairline.

“I—Actually, I don’t really drink,” she says, sheepishly.

She watches Violet for a bad reaction. Katya was made in such a way that even though she can’t fully picture the catastrophe that could come out of not letting Violet’s evening go the way she planned, she fears it.

“That’s okay.”

“Oh,” says Katya.

Violet puts the bottle down, so that it lies by her feet. Her eyes are soft, she seems relaxed.

“I kinda want to get slushies,” she says. “Maybe we can get some, and then drive out somewhere.”

Katya watches the glow of the sunset coming from outside reflect on Violet’s knees. She nods.

“Slushies sound good.”

They end up parking near one of those ominous Jesus-Loves-You billboards, and some sort of field. Probably corn, it looks like there are stalks of it waving in the soft breeze. Katya is more interested in the sky above her, and the girl beside her.

They’re lying on the hood of her car, sipping on their slushies. Katya defends herself from Violet’s criticism of her refined tastes, which are entirely based on Katya filling her entire cup with the cherry kind. She’s always liked that it’s red.

“Red is a trustworthy colour.”

Violet smirks lazily. “I’m just saying, the whole point of getting these is to jam as many flavours as you can into one cup.”

“You didn’t add the root beer kind,” Katya singsongs.

“Root beer is disgusting,” says Violet. “I have standards.”

Shooting the shit with Violet has turned out to be easier than Katya had thought. She’s not sure how long they’ve been hanging out, but she’s found that as intimidating as Violet may seem, talking to her is like chatting with an old friend. It’s nice, nice enough that Katya’s nerves have abated a little.

“Aren’t you cold?” Katya asks.

It’s not a very chilly night, really, but it’s cool, and they’re sucking up crushed ice under the stars. Violet’s wearing a thin-strapped, sleek little dress that hugs the contours of her body. Feeling bold, Katya takes her free hand and traces one of the straps with her finger.

Violet shivers a bit.

“No,” she says. “I’m really warm, actually.”

Katya hmms. She lets her finger wander. There are little vertical grooves running along the length of her dress. Katya traces one of these grooves from the collar, down to—

“Oh!” she gasps. “Is that—?”

She swears there’s a twinkle in Violet’s eyes as she confirms that yes, that’s a nipple piercing Katya’s pressing on through the thin fabric. She removes her hand.

“I’m gonna put this down,” says Katya, gesturing to her empty cup. “And then I’m gonna kiss you. Are you good with that?”

Violet grins, and nods.

Katya sets her cup aside, where it stands against all odds. She promptly knocks it over with her movements. She’ll have to get that before they go, littering is bad.

As they come together, it just so happens that Violet wasn’t quite done with her drink, and did not think to set it aside. She gets an icy, gray slush down her front for that. Violet shrieks on impact, and Katya mirrors her as she pulls back to assess the damage.

“Shit!” she gasps. “I’m so fucking sorry, this is not an ideal situation at all, you must be freezing—”

Violet chuckles.

“I think we can make the best of this,” she says, shivering all the while, but as sure of herself as ever.

Katya watches dumbly as she proceeds to toss her cup aside, and peel off her dress.

Maybe it’s an exaggeration to say that the love of Katya’s life has revealed herself to her, right on the hood of her car, clad only in panties, heels half dangling off her feet, and a _wicked_ smile on her pretty face. She can’t know that for sure just yet. But _damn_ , she wants this girl something awful.

And she’s practically handing herself over on a platter.

So Katya goes for it. She kisses Violet deeply, moves her hands down her front to feel as much skin as possible, and to warm her up with their heat. She pulls back, moves to ghost her breath over the places Violet’s skin feels the coldest. Violet hitches her long legs up so they’re on either side of her. Katya grabs onto them, kissing her through her panties while she whimpers. Around them, crickets chirp, and the corn rustles slightly in the breeze.

“Wanna move this inside?”

Katya lays a quick kiss on her lips, to calm her after having stopped her movements to ask her question.

She’s a bit too pleased with how dazed Violet sounds when she says she does.

***

When Katya was younger, she had an ill-fated encounter with a girl she’d been partnered up in bio lab with. Their courtship had consisted of her letting Katya breathe into a paper bag while she dug into a pig’s heart with a scalpel. She then wrote her number in the detailed notes she gave Katya, where she’d recorded the information they needed for their report.

They probably went to the same field she’d parked next to with Violet. They held hands as they trudged deeper into the field, without much of a clue for what they were looking for in a make out spot, and ended up getting completely lost. There was a search party involved and everything. Katya had lied and said they were just on a walk.

Katya got to make out with a cute girl that day, and touch her boob over her shirt, but they were so mortified about how it all went down that they never went any further. Seriously, their ordeal was in the local paper. Town Genius Lost in Corn With Friend: Whole Town Mobilizes to Find Them.

Now and then, Katya will commemorate that milestone in her life by using “lost in the corn” as a euphemism for getting some ass.

“I really wish you’d stop,” Trixie whispers.

Katya gasps incredulously. “So you want me to be frank about my activities here, in the house of the Lord?”

Trixie rolls her eyes, but she smiles still.

“You can be frank in your indoor voice. He’d forgive you.”

Katya wanted to hold off on telling Trixie about her little dalliance until they could meet up. They arranged to meet up at church on Sunday morning, and although it might be more comfortable to talk about it at brunch after the service, Katya’s too excited to wait that long.

“Do you want me to tell you or not?”

Trixie thinks on it for a moment.

“Jesus loves gossip,” she says, affecting complete seriousness. “Who have you been rolling in the corn with?”

As if she’d been summoned, the doors open and Violet turns the aisle into her own personal runway. She’s tied a delicate, silk scarf around her neck, where Katya had left a hickey the second time they met up. Katya blows her a kiss as she passes their row, when their eyes meet. Violet pretends to catch it, and place it on her own cheek.

Trixie’s mouth hangs open as she watches their exchange.

“No fucking way.”

Katya gives her a Cheshire Cat grin.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @sayakamagika on tumblr, and all you have to do is listen to be babble on for hours and hours to get extra special sneak peeks. I love to talk, and am taking questions/comments/concerns there.


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